


Triple shot, sweetly spiced

by JaqofSpades



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Multi, Polyship Week, coffee shop AU, no blackout au, supposed fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-28
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-08-11 13:37:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7894672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaqofSpades/pseuds/JaqofSpades
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He hadn’t even bothered to hide his smirk as he bent his head to the machine, and oops, that slow flip in her belly was disturbingly familiar. Boyfriend, she’d reminded herself.  Big, sexy Jason Neville, who taught kickboxing at her gym and was the sweetest badass she knew.  Everything she wanted in a man, Charlie told herself as she ripped her attention away from the skinny, too charming barista.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Triple shot, sweetly spiced

**Author's Note:**

> Written to meet the needs of two challenges on tumblr: firstly, this is a supposedly fluffy fill for day one of Polyship Week @polyship prompts (prompt at the end, because spoilers.) It also fills a number of prompts for The Orgy Armada’s 60 Moods of Summer: backyard, swingset, squirt guns, countryside, picnic, tornado, rain, sightseeing, baseball.
> 
> It is also a late Jarlett birthday present for the very talented atlantiss505. Thank you for all your marvellous artwork and everything you give to fandom :D

Tucked in at the north end of her favourite surf break is Charlie’s new favourite coffee shop, a den of mixmatched chairs, quirky tables and stay-all-day sofas.  It’s called The Republic, and the man rapidly becoming her new favourite barista is the owner, Connor Bennett.

Connor is … dangerous, she suspects, six foot of shameless flirt topped with a shaggy mane of curls that’s been giving Charlie _ideas_ since the first morning she’d wandered in, still sandy and wet from spending too many hours waiting for the waves to arrive.  She’d only given up when the clouds broke overhead, and the warm glow from his windows proved irresistible.

“Surf up?” the man behind the counter had joked, mouth curling around the words like he’d found them delicious. 

“What an asshole,” was her first thought, rapidly followed by “but fuck is he pretty”.  But she’s Charlie Matheson – of course annoyance won out.

No, no it wasn’t, she’d glared, and could she just have a double shot caramel latte already?

He hadn’t even bothered to hide his smirk as he bent his head to the machine, and oops, that slow flip in her belly is disturbingly familiar. Boyfriend, she’d reminded herself.  Big, sexy Jason Neville, who taught kickboxing at her gym and was the sweetest badass she knew.  Everything she wanted in a man, Charlie told herself as she ripped her attention away from the skinny, too charming barista.

She’d shuffled herself into a corner in a bid not to drip onto the rugs scattered about the place, then grimaced when she caught him watching her.  “Sorry, I’m a mess,” she apologised, and the slow once-over that resulted warmed her from her toes up.

“A beautiful mess, maybe,” he’d grinned.  “Want me to light that fire?”

“Nah, I’ll dry off soon enough.  It is midsummer,” she protested, even as the **rain** gave way to hail outside.  (She ignored the fact that he called her beautiful.  It was clearly standard maximise-my-tips patter.  Even if she had to look away to break the spell.)

He lit the fire anyway and she ordered another caramel latte and then another.  Eventually, just as her stomach started to rumble, he put a muffin in front of her.  “On the house,” he said, and – oh God.  That smile.  Those eyes.  Just kill her.

The next day, the surf was pumping and her blood was still singing with the glory of it when she danced into The Republic, and maybe that’s why she did what she did.  Or maybe it was the way his eyes had lit up when he saw her. 

“Hey, caramel girl,” he had purred, and she couldn’t help it, okay?

“Hit me,” she’d cooed back, leaning over the counter to offer him an eyeful of cleavage.  He’d taken a deep breath and forced his eyes back to the machine, but the way he’d licked his lips … score one for Charlie. 

Then he’d handed her the cup, holding onto it a moment longer than he needed to. “Careful.  Hot enough to burn, today,” he’d said, and nothing in his voice could possibly be talking about the coffee. So very lame, she groaned, but something about the curl of his lip clearly shortcircuited her brain. 

“Exactly how I like it,” she had purred, and their eyes locked and … Jesus.  She could still feel Jason in all the secret places of her body – three orgasms, thank you very much – and she’s been thinking lately she might be falling in love, so what the hell is she _doing_?

Just having coffee, she lied to herself, and yes, she knew it was a freaking lie, but she hadn’t been willing to deprive herself of his truly excellent brew.  So she orders it to go and tried not to linger. He handed over her mocha with an almost innocent smile, but later, when she’s about to throw out the disposable cup, she found the message scrawled the bottom.

“Caramel for my sweet,” it said, and she’s a bad, bad girl for liking it so much.

Soon she was holding up her cup to read the message before she even tasted a drop, telling herself there was nothing wrong with idle curiosity, even as they got more intimate by the day. “New bikini?” was one thing, but it’s barely a week before “happy to help brush you off” becomes “You sandy everywhere?”

Then comes the day she finds “I get off at three, wanna get off at four?”

She spends _way_ too much time thinking about that, before deciding enough was enough.  She had dragged Jason to the beach with her, and into the café afterwards.  Connor eyed them from his station with a wry smile, then winked at her.  Message received.

There was still a message underneath her coffee cup, though.  She’s getting into her car when she remembers to check, and nearly ends up face down on the seat when she stumbles.  

“Cinnamon and caramel,” he’d written. “Yummy.”

How cryptic, she tells herself, and there’s no way of knowing what he meant.  It doesn’t help – she drowns in the flood of mental images anyway.  The taste of their mouths as they kiss her, one after the other, and the contrast of their skin as they lie on her bed, side by side.  Being crushed between them, ravaged, fingers and tongues and lips and … she drags her mind away before it can supply any more detail, but it’s pointless.  She sees it all – does it all - in her dreams anyway.

She satisfies herself with coffee from her own machine that morning, but doesn’t last the week. It’s Saturday morning when she gives in to the impulse, almost skulking in, only to stop in shock.  Jason is showing Connor something on his phone, their dark heads together, the remains of two breakfasts littered around them.

Jason spots her first, and is that an actual flush? It has to be a trick of the light, Charlie tells herself, because what would he be embarrassed about?

Unless …

Nah.

Jason was totally straight, wasn’t he?

Had they actually had that conversation, though?  It’s only been a couple of months, and lord knows she tends to keep a few things under her hat.  (The bisexuality is one thing, but combined with her ideas on monogamy, it’s killed more than a few new relationships.)

“Hey Charlie, you got me addicted to this guy’s coffee,” Jason jokes as Connor offers her a half shrug before heading back to the coffee machine. “Where have you been anyway – today’s the first time I’ve had time to stop, but Connor said you haven’t been in all week?”

“Ah – been sick.  Stayed home,” she lies, praying he won’t call her on it.  “How was your conference?”

“Still insurance,” he answers, rueful. Jason had followed his father into the family business, but lacked the old man’s Machiavellian instincts.  Charlie had suffered through more than one **backyard** barbeque with the Nevilles – the thought of sweet Jason spending the entire working week with that mercurial martinet left her frothing.   No wonder he was into kickboxing – a saint would need someone to kick after that.

She’s biting down on a mouthful of angry words when Connor returns, a tall latte at the ready.  It’s in a real cup, she realises, no cheeky messages to find. But that means - he wants her to join them.  Charlie’s heart starts to thump a mile a minute, all her fears about her relationship with Jason flooding back at the thought of him watching them interact.  Can she even hide it, how much she likes him?  If Connor flirts with her, will she be able to stop herself from flirting back?  No, she decides.  She won’t, because she is an awful person and a dreadful girlfriend and --  Jason will be so hurt.

Except – sure, her heart had jumped into her mouth.  But that wasn’t hurt she was feeling – more  like a hot flush as all those dirty dreams came flooding back.  Anticipation, too, all the what ifs making their presence felt.   Want, raw and sharp and confusing, because she’s not sure what the hell she’s longing for, even as they settle into the table in the corner, Jason teasing her through a huge breakfast, and Connor settling in across from them between customers. 

He’s a refugee from Tornado alley, he confesses, his last place left in the rubble after a particularly bad season.

“I’d just had enough – needed a change, you know?  And with my mom gone, there was no one keeping me there,” he’d shrugged.

She asks about his Dad, and gets a sad smile in return.  “Died when I was a kid.  Second Iraq war.  He was a Marine.”

Charlie can’t help her gasp, skin prickling with the uncanny coincidence.  “Mine too,” she says, voice shaking.  “He and his best friend drove over a roadside bomb.”

Connor just gawps, pale, and Jason looks between them, stunned.  He’s met her Mom and Dad, but Charlie hadn’t quite explained he wasn’t her biological father.

“Long story,” she offers, and follows Connor up to the servery, idly delivering drinks to another table before she even realises what’s she’s doing.

“Thanks,” he says after.  “The name comes from them.  My mom told me my Dad and Miles had this running joke about what they were going to do when they got out of the service.  Run their own little country, The Republic of Bass and Miles.  I just – wanted that for them, you know?”

She does know, and a fist clenches tight around her heart.  She’s three quarters of the way through a business degree, and has never waited tables in her life.  It doesn’t matter.

“Let me know if you ever need any help,” she says, and he shows her how to use the machine.  Later, he mentions the lease he holds on the front lot, opening right out onto the beach, and she looks up the bylaws to explore his options.

A little playground, she muses, a place for kids to play so that their parents feel able to sit and enjoy the peace.  They mark it off with a line of flags and stock the square of sand with beach chess, **squirt guns** , a huge variety of sandcastle building tools, and squeaky **swingset** and slide.

The three of them spend a long, sweaty day setting up the equipment, and collapse onto the sand together afterwards.  “What’s that thing anyway?” Charlie frowns, sure her plans didn’t include a nondescript enclosure backing on to a shower.

“That’s where we’re going to put the surfboard rack,” Connor says casually.  “Thought it would come in handy when you teach me to surf.”

And there it was, the thing that had been growing between them, right from the start.  They’d skirted around it, sidestepped, backed away from it, but the truth was – they enjoyed each other’s company.  All three of them, to the point where she and Jason would swing by the café after they were done with their dates.  

He wasn’t officially open, so they’d have the place to themselves to kick back on the sofas and chill out, daytime coffee giving way to more adventurous concoctions they’d take it in turns to create.  Jason and Connor discover a shared passion for antique weaponry, and they pore over auction catalogues together as Charlie accuses them of being giant nerds.  Better than alcoholics, Jason fires back, but she and Connor just salute him, whiskey glasses held high.

It’s fun, and light, and eminently deniable, right up until they end up hanging onto each other in the waves, or tangled together on the couch or rubbing someone’s feet and … the sexual tension bites.  It’s easier during the day, but at night, the banter fades and raw honesty tiptoes in to take its place.

So she asks.

“How are you enjoying your surfing lessons?”  Because you had your hands all over me this morning, and I’m pretty sure Jason was hard just from seeing that, and the way you look at each other … a girl can only take so much.

 “S’okay.  All I know is I don’t hate seeing a pretty girl in a bikini every morning,” Connor shrugs around a smirk.  And fuck, if he’s going to give her that sort of window, she’s going to jump right through it.

“What about the pretty boys?”

“Can’t say I’ve seen too many wearing bikinis, but …” Connor smoulders at Jason with heavy-lidded eyes. “He’s pretty all right.”

It’s not quite the confirmation she’s looking for, and she throws back another mouthful of whiskey as if the answers are waiting in the bottom of her glass.  Connor, though, isn’t done.

“But is he pretty taken, or pretty experimental, or pretty … open to something actually happening,” he says baldly.  “Getting laid is one thing, but … I’m new in town.  You two are the best friends I’ve got.  Don’t want to upset that.”

Jason settles his whiskey onto the side table and slides forward into Connor’s space.  “Want to go see a **baseball** game, friend?”

Charlie’s heart starts to thunder in her chest, because this is happening.  It’s so happening, and it’s not just going to be the mad sex thing she expected.  It’s going to be – she crawls forward, sliding her hands up Connor’s thighs as she kneels next to Jason.

“Puh-lease.  We’re going to teach you to surf, and take you **sightseeing,** show you the SoCal **countryside** ,” she promises.  “If you close the café on Sunday, we’ll can take a **picnic** up into the valley.  Hell, take a month off and we’ll head for Tijuana and camp out on the beach in Baja.”

“Woah, steady champ.  What are you saying?”  But he’s got one hand tangled in her hair, and the other tracing Jason’s lips, the words strangled like passionate moans. “Be sure about this.”

Charlie grins up at him and shifts her hand to where his cock is pushing hard at the front of his jeans.  Strokes a little, then slides the button out of its home.  “Oh, we’re sure.  Can’t wait to get you in that tent.  Have our wicked way with you.  Friend.”

“Well, since you’re sure …” he lunges, licking his way into Connor’s mouth, even as his clever hands unbuckle Charlie’s belt.

 She’s stripping her t-shirt off when two pairs of hungry lips land on her belly, making her shriek and writhe before collapsing into giggles.

Connor reaches up to pinch her nipple and pull her down into his lap.  “Think that’s funny, do you?  Two men crazy for you, and all you can do is laugh?”

Charlie pouts theatrically and shimmies out of her jeans.  “I’m sorry, sir.  I got distracted.  What can I do for you today?”

“Get over here, woman.  Be kissing me already,” he growls, and _that_.  Charlie has no problem with that.

Later, after they’ve stumbled upstairs to fall into Connor’s wide, white bed, after they’ve explored and played and drowned in each other’s spice, Charlie interrupts her adoration of Connor’s mouth to mumble something against his skin.

“What?’ Jason asks, pushing himself up onto one elbow so he can gaze down into their bliss-drunk faces.

“Hell of a triple shot,” she grins happily.

Jason rolls his eyes and Connor smirks.  “You thinking about your caffeine fix again?”

Charlie wrinkles her nose at him and wriggles a little to make her presence felt.  “Maybe.  Could be a new recipe.”  She rolls into him, leans up to purr into his ear.  “Caramel, and cinnamon, and single malt whiskey.  Good on their own, but together--”

“Blow the top of your head off.”

“Hell yeah.  A strong brew, but so sweet.  And very, very potent,” she teases, sitting up to cover them both in a wide straddle.  “But definitely worth the risk,” she smirks, hands already travelling south.

Jason moans his agreement, already bucking up into her hand, but Connor tries to keep a straight face.  “Might still need convincing,” he gasps, and Charlie slides a finger lower to etch a circle around his most tender flesh.   

“It’s yours.  On the menu,” he howls, and the way his eyes bug out, the way he bears down …

“Triple shot it is,” she murmurs, and pulls Jason into their embrace.

_fin_

**Author's Note:**

> From polyshipprompts: Person A and B are dating when they meet C. Both start liking C but feel guilty about it and so start silently freaking out until person A snaps and tells B who responds with a ‘you like them too?!??’. They talk and agree to try and talk to C who figured out that A and B liked them and had been waiting for them to make a move. When A and B manage to talk to C, C yells out finally and tells A and B to just kiss them already.


End file.
